


an unhealthy obsession

by SatanicDoormat



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: An Unhealthy Obsession by the Blake Synthetic Orchestra, Fantasizing, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Sexual Fantasy, Slight Masochism, Songfic, honestly? kinda cute if you look past the whole illegal aspect haha ha, imagined masochism if that makes sense, mentions of knife play, might be continued, not really edge play, slash fear play, stalker! dream, stalker! wilbur, the WORST KIND of Mutual Pining, they both watch each other jerk off without the other knowing, triggers in author’s note!!, two stalkers stalking each other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:03:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27595225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SatanicDoormat/pseuds/SatanicDoormat
Summary: Dream wants Wilbur. He wants Wilbur so, so badly.Dream can’t have Wilbur.He’s drunk on Wilbur, high on Wilbur, addicted to Wilbur.He never wants to be away from Wilbur.He can’t ever get enough.So he does what he has to.Wilbur loves Dream. He loves Dream so, so much.Wilbur knows he’s never getting Dream.Wilbur’s drowning, suffocating, choking on his yearning for Dream.He never wants to be away from Dream.He can’t ever get relief.So he does what he has to.Two, stupid, starving, insane boys.A love story as twisted as their minds.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/Wilbur Soot
Comments: 145
Kudos: 491





	1. dream watches

**Author's Note:**

> I would not read this if you’re triggered by:
> 
> dub-con (sort of, they’ve both watched each other jerk off)
> 
> obsessiveness 
> 
> stalker behavior
> 
> no gore in this fic!! but be warned like this is heavy stuff
> 
> ———
> 
> anyway this is based off of An Unhealthy Obsession by the Blake Synthetic Orchestra. song lyrics will be in italics interspersed between lines of the actual story.
> 
> damn I just love dreambur toxic relationship dynamics,,,
> 
> lots and lots of fantasies btw
> 
> real life au where all the mcyts live near each other and they’re not youtubers.

It’s not fair.

It’s stupidly unfair, how Dream can’t have him.

How Dream has to be content with watching him, how he has to restrain himself from reaching out to caress porcelain-white skin on one of the rare occasions that he actually  talks  to Wilbur.

_ They call it creepin’, I say lovin’, it’s the only way for me. _

So he watches. He watches, and he listens, and he imagines, and oh god he  wishes and he _wants._

He sits in the oak tree outside Wilbur’s window, camouflaged with his green hoodie, and watches him go about his life, that life that Dream resents almost childishly because he’s not a part of it.

The last shred of reason inside of Dream’s wretched, love-struck mind reminds him, doggedly nags at him that Wilbur will never want him. Never love him back. Not in a hundred lifetimes, especially if he finds out.  
  
  


Dream fights with himself. Sometimes he locks himself in his room to keep the urges away, but he needs to see Wilbur like he needs air, and sometimes that spites him.

  
He loves to leave little surprises for Wilbur, chuckling from his perch, gazing lovingly down with his binoculars as Wilbur finds his window shattered or his doorknob mangled.   
  


Dream loves to watch as Wilbur’s brow lifts and wrinkles in bemusement, mouth opening just slightly in confusion, lips parted in surprise.

He’s adorable when he’s confused. It’s like he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

Dream wants to see those pretty lips wrapped around his cock, sucking him until he comes in Wilbur’s mouth and holds him there until he swallows. He wants to make Wilbur choke on him, and it’s ridiculous just how _much_ he wants.

When he’s angry, too, Dream loves the way he looks, the way he grits his teeth and grips his control firmly, tightly, the way he clenches his fists, nails digging into his palms, hair falling into his face.

  
  


Dream would beg on his knees for Wilbur to slit his throat, for Wilbur to grind the heel of his boot against his cock, for Wilbur to straddle him and hold sharp, cold metal against his jugular until he comes just from the rush.

He wants to be Wilbur’s. He wants to do everything for Wilbur. He wants to _belong_ to Wilbur.

He watches as Wilbur goes to report the latest of Dream’s surprises to the police station. They won’t find anything incriminating him. They never do.

  
  


_Filling out papers, signing waivers but I stay outside his reach._

_  
  
_Dream watches Wilbur’s friends, unconcealed envy written all over his face as he observes Wilbur’s bright smile as he talks to them, as he playfully punches his friends in the shoulder, hugs them, compares heights, makes inside jokes.

He has all their names memorized.

Tommy, the tall, loud, aggressively British blonde teenager who makes stupid jokes all the time.

Wilbur’s accent is much prettier than that, Dream thinks to himself when he’s eavesdropping on them at the next table over at a cafe, hood up and sunglasses down to hide his face. He could do so much better.

He could do me.

Techno, the only American in Wilbur’s friend group (or so he thinks, he has no idea where Phil’s from) the pessimist with pink hair and a crown atop his head. He had such a deep voice Dream thought at first that the listening devices he placed when he last came over to Wilbur’s place (to discuss something, he didn’t remember, he was too busy eyeing Wilbur’s slender hands as he fidgeted on the table and picturing all the other things those fingers could do to him) were malfunctioning, but when he himself later developed a friendship with Techno, he learned that wasn’t true and he just...had a really deep voice.

Phil, the older guy who was like a father to the whole group, who never went anywhere without a tacky striped bucket hat.

Tubbo, Tommy’s best friend, a slightly less loud, slightly less aggressively British brown-haired teenager.

  
  
  
Dream could picture himself replacing them all. He was all that Wilbur really needed, honestly. 

_I name your mother and your father and the first pet that you keep..._

  
  
He’s basically memorized Wilbur’s weekly routine, what he does every day. 

Dream’s brain is divided into sections: _Wilbur, related to Wilbur,_ and _not Wilbur.  
_

Everything related to his normal life is just _not Wilbur_ , and he prefers to spend as little time on _not Wilbur_ as possible. He’ll be eating or working, talking to George or Sapnap, and his mind will drift to Wilbur, and almost always on his way home from anything he’ll take a detour to an empty parking lot, make the short walk to the familiar tree besides Wilbur’s window, and just watch him, breathe him in gratefully like a swimmer coming up for air.

At any given time Dream probably knows exactly where Wilbur will be and what he’ll be doing, and if he’s not watching Wilbur do it, he’ll be imagining Wilbur do it, see him clearly in his mind’s eye.

  
_I know your favourite place to dine at when your cheque comes in each week,_

_I know you do your wash on Sundays and you separate your whites,_

_And that your car needs a new tire 'cos last week I laid those spikes_

Twice Dream’s caught Wilbur touching himself. He can’t even count the times he’s come thinking about it.

He watched from the tree, nearly salivating as Wilbur bit into a knuckle to muffle himself and thrust into his hand, eyes rolling up as come spurted from his fingers and got on his shirt, fluffy brown curls sticking to his forehead as he painted from exertion.

Dream almost creamed his pants, falling out of the tree and hitting the ground with a thump.

Still worth it.

The second time, Wilbur was fucking himself, bouncing up and down on his fingers, mouth open in a moan that Dream could almost hear, clutching the pillows around him as he released all over himself.

This time Dream managed not to fall out of the tree, raising his phone to his eye with shaking hands and tapping the camera shutter. It was a shitty photo, but it was enough.

  
He never had enough photos of Wilbur.

Sometimes he’d finger himself, imagine it was Wilbur fucking him, and sometimes he’d thrust into his fist, imagine he had Wilbur riding his cock.

Until he came and knew he was alone again.  
  


_I've got a million polaroids with all the dates penned in red ink  
_

_  
[I sneak a walkie-talky in your room to listen to you sleep]_

Dream wanted Wilbur. He couldn’t deny it, not even to himself. If anyone outright asked him, he didn’t think he’d be able to deny it either, but thankfully none of his friends suspected anything.   
  
  


He was fucked up, he knew it, but Wilbur hypnotized him. Wilbur was his puppet master. He was nothing but putty in Wilbur’s hands, even if Wilbur didn’t know it.

Little did he know Wilbur had it just as bad.

_You just don't know it yet but you love me and I love you the same_

_  
One day we'll have a pretty wedding and I'll be your everything_

_  
We'll be together, yes forever, we will never ever part_

_  
Oh you don't know it yet but baby I've already got your heart_


	2. wilbur yearns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the Wilbur chapter. yes this took three months. silence bitch *bonks you* yes it is short and shitty. no I will not take another three months on the third chapter. thank you guys for sticking around <3  
> same tws as the last chapter with all the stalker stuff with the addition of this: I’m adding a tw of non-con fantasies. idk if I’m gonna do actual non-con (well, kind of, cause they both do want it, but it would start off with the intent of non-con) comment if you want with ideas for the final chapter  
>  WAIT SHOULD I ADD THE TAG DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT IVE ALWAYS WANTED TO DO THAT FOR SOME REASON IT FEELS SO EVIL

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one is for the anon who keeps coming back   
> I love you man  
> please take care of yourself bro love ya  
> this anon is the real mvp I swear to god you guys better be thanking them/her/him/[lists all the neopronouns I know] prolly the only reason I finished this chapter was cause you guys stuck around and I love you for it  
> now some of you other meddlers may be thinking:  
> “how did they not realize if they’re watching each other all the time?”  
> the thing is, they’re not. they do other things, they just wish they weren’t.  
> SHUT UP ABOUT THE PLOT HOLES SHUT UP   
> oh yeah there’s also a line in this one about a stakeout in a tree which fits Dream WAY more but I’m going with the flow of the song okay
> 
> also the formatting of this chapter may be different than the first chapter but to be honest the first one was scuffed as fuck so

It’s funny, really. 

  
  


Funny how absolutely infatuated Wilbur is with Dream.

Not funny in a silly way. Funny in a sick way, funny in a fucked-up, twisted way. 

Almost as twisted as the fucked-up thoughts in Wilbur’s head.

He thinks he may be in denial a little bit. He tries to tell himself he’s just looking out for the friend he just  _ happens  _ to be desperately in love with when he pulls up the monitor view on his computer of the six hidden cameras he’d placed in every important room of Dream’s small house.

  
  


In Wilbur’s defense, the window was cracked open so invitingly that he couldn’t help it. And the spare set of Dream’s keys just sitting there on the counter was too irresistible an opportunity for Wilbur to pass up. 

So he had copies made of the keys. Just to check up on Dream every once in a while, he reasoned to himself. Dream would have wanted him to have them.

And then he’d gotten the cameras. Just to make sure Dream was safe, he reassured his own mind, just to make sure his friend wasn’t going to be hurt when Wilbur wasn’t around. 

Because Wilbur was the only one who could protect him. Wilbur was Dream’s knight, he liked to imagine, and Dream his prince.

It was an amusing twist of irony that the greatest threat to Dream’s safety was Wilbur himself.

_ Some call it “stalking” I say “walking just extremely close behind”, _

_ I'm sure if I sat down and asked you...well you really wouldn't mind. _

He has Dream’s schedule memorized-he spends every spare minute scrutinizing the live camera views, from the time he gets up in the morning to when he reluctantly leaves for work and again when he gets back in the afternoon. He spends his time in the presence of others-others being “not Dream”-fidgeting, wrapping up conversations as quickly as possible so he can get back home and glue himself to the events in the life of his beloved.

Dream wakes up at seven a.m. or around that time every morning, after he’s hit the snooze button on his alarm clock at least three times. 

His hair is so adorably tousled in the morning. 

  
  


Wilbur wants to yank on it and make him cry.

After a breakfast of cereal or eggs or some other easy-to-prepare meal, Dream changes into a collared shirt or something work-casual and heads out the front door.

Wilbur feels like a middle schooler, some ditzy student fawning over their celebrity crush’s body, but Dream is just so  _ fit,  _ so _perfect._ He has the perfect balance of tan shoulders and lean muscle tone, tall but not as tall as Wilbur, and charming freckles sprinkled sparsely across the upper part of his torso.

  
  


His eyes are so mesmerizing, deep green, the kind of earnest look that Wilbur wants to watch fill with tears and crumple. 

Wilbur is not sane. He knows it. 

But he doesn’t fucking care. Not when he can watch Dream’s eyes flutter shut after a long day-he spends much more time away from home than Wilbur does-and partake in all of his private moments.

He’s a sick fucking pervert, he knows, he deserves to go to jail for a long time, but he hasn’t been caught yet. Some vandal has been crushing his doorknobs and scratching jagged holes in the paint on his walls, but he figures he deserves it. He finds comfort in the mysterious returning troublemaker, find comfort in the consistency. He knows that shouldn’t be his reaction, but he just doesn’t care. 

  
  
  


So he watches Dream. He watches and he worships and he wants and he wishes.

  
  


_ You've got those eyes that drive me crazy, _

_ and I've got eyes to watch you sleep. _

He likes to jerk off at the same Dream does, which is almost every night. That way Wilbur can pretend they’re getting off together. Pathetic, maybe, but it’s all he has. Even without sound. He does wish he could hear as well as see Dream fall apart.

Dream is so pretty. Wilbur would destroy him, he knew he could. He wants to. He wants to so badly. He could make Dream scream and beg, no matter whether he wanted to or not. 

He’s entertained the notion of letting himself into Dream’s house in the dead of night, slipping into his bedroom, placing a kiss on his forehead and then fucking him mercilessly until he wakes up.

Letting him scream all he wants. Tying his hands behind his back and using him. Slipping out once he’s satisfied with another sweet kiss and leaving a whispered threat against his love’s lips, watching his eyes go wide in fear before disappearing back into the night.

Or Wilbur could steal him away, keep him in his room, his own personal cute little fuck-doll, train him and treat him like gold, like royalty, like the prince he is.

But he knows that it wouldn’t last. He knows that someone would notice. Fucking George and Sapnap would come poking around and he’d never see the only man he cares about ever again.

So he watches. 

Oh, surely he’ll do it one day. Have his fun. Satisfy his urges, finally. Live out his fantasies. And oh, he looks forward to that day. It would all be worth it then.

But only when he has nothing left to lose. 

_ I brought a pack lunch and some coffee, _

_ for my stakeout in your tree, (outside your house) _

  
  


Wilbur couldn’t bear losing everything he’d worked for. Not just yet. He’s not satisfied, exactly, but he’s content with being as close to Dream as he possibly can. 

He wonders idly, what would happen when Dream found the cameras? 

Wilbur doesn’t know if the police would be able to trace them back to him. He doesn’t care. He’ll know when they’re found, and then he’ll make Dream pay for it. But he wouldn’t be mean. Not at first. Not unless he wanted to be.

  
  


He marvels at how lucky he is that he hasn’t been caught already. Lately he’s gotten into the habit of waiting ‘till Dream goes to work and sneaking into his house, taking a few reminders of the subject of his adoration. Nothing of importance or value, nothing that’s likely to be noticed. 

He’s been careful, grabbing an old hoodie that hasn’t been worn for a while but still carries Dream’s scent, or even something small and asinine like a fridge magnet or a coaster. Anything that Dream has used. He sometimes resents that these stupid little trinkets are closer to Dream than he likely ever will be, so he takes them and he imagines what could be.

_[Shh!]_

_ Gotta be as quiet as a mouse-or else you'll call the police, _

_ and I'll get done for somethin' stupid like “disturbance of the peace”, _

_ and piece piece I am collecting _

_ all the things you leave behind _

_ and when you don't I rummage through your bins _

_ to see what I can find. _

Dream is his. Wilbur won’t let anyone touch him as long as he lives, as long as he still breathes. And Wilbur wants him to know it.

Someday.

_ You just don't know it yet but you love me and I love you the same _

_ One day we'll have a pretty wedding and I'll be your everything _

_ We'll be together, yes forever, we will never ever part _

_  
Oh you don't know it yet but baby I've already got your heart_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed all 1.2k words of this *long, long sigh*   
> all around me are familiar faces  
> Worn Out Places  
> please comment I will cry if you don’t  
> would you believe me if I told you I started this chapter today and finished it today in a very rare fit of inspiration

**Author's Note:**

> shameless self plug: my twt is @SatanicDoormat
> 
> WILBUR CHAPTER COMING SOON


End file.
